Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.
Make the visible a little hard to see.
After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.
An old argument with me is that the true religious force in the world is not the church, but the world itself: the mysterious callings of Nature and our responses.